yesterday, away from You
by The Metaphysician
Summary: If there was one thing of which Arthur Kirkland was certain, it was that romance hated him. So it only made sense that the evil thing would eventually lead him to fall for his popular, charming, heterosexual best friend. AU
1. prologue

If there was one thing of which Arthur Kirkland was certain, it was that romance hated him. Bloody _despised _the poor lad, he might go so far as to say. And really, he couldn't be blamed for thinking so. He'd gone his entire high school career without a single successful attempt at winning some kind lass over. Rejection had slapped him hard in the face one too many times after snorting out vehement cackles at his eyebrows, or his uptight demeanor and crisp sweater and proper trousers.

Of course, when senior year toddled in, Arthur was gloomy and pissy. Three past years of romantic scorn had simply been too much. His heart had crystallized in a solid sheet of ice, forever fueled by the chilling thoughts and schizoid personality he'd come to possess. …All right, so maybe that's a bit harsh. The boy still had his fair share of laughs and witty remarks, grins to share with friends, places to go, booze to drink, porn to read. And yet, he was known around school to be hardly someone you'd fancy having a conversation with. Unless your name was Alfred F. Jones, in which case, you fancied conversing with the young man nearly every day in some manner.

"S'not all bad, man," Alfred would tell him, shaking his glasses off of his head in favor of poking his contacts. "Chicks dig your accent, why not try to verbally woo someone? Ya like Shakespeare and shit, go for it."

Arthur would merely roll his eyes and prop open whichever dirty magazine he'd located beneath Alfred's bed that day. Honestly, for a happy-go-lucky ball of sunshine, Alfred was unexpectedly almost as perverted as Arthur himself was. "Yes, because a girl who finds American football and sex on the first date attractive will certainly warm up to a Shakespearian monologue. By God, Alfred, how have I foregone your ingenuity before this?"

It was a hearty chuckle that Alfred responded with, plenty well used to his friend's snippy remarks. "All right, so maybe wooing won't work with your stick-up-the-butt personality. I still say you give those monster brows a trim." He yanked on his baseball cap and cleats before poking the English boy's side with the tip of his bat. "But as much as I'd love to have this mushy heart –to-heart with you, there's a field with my name on it begging me to get us a homerun. Gotta start the season off right, and I'm the one to do it."

"Oh, of course. It'd be terrible of me to keep our school's star player from his _practice_ game." Arthur smirked from behind the magazine, a shameless blush on his naturally pale cheeks from its content. "When was the last time we actually won a match? Was it three decades ago or four?"

"Shut up," Alfred countered playfully. "We're starting practice early in the fall this year, so we'll definitely be ready when spring rolls around. We're awesome, and you'd know it if you actually bothered to see us play."

Arthur snorted. "Forgive me for being too 'stodgy' to attend. Besides, your mother seems to _enjoy _my company more than you do, eh, Jones? It wouldn't be right of a gentleman such as myself to deny her my presence." He rolled onto his back on the comforter to kick at the other's legs.

Alfred guffawed jovially, dodging the assault in favor of messing Arthur's hair. "That. That'd only be gross if I didn't know you guys just sat around drinking tea and knitting or whatever. But seriously, I gotta go, don't do anything nasty to my mom.

"Love you, my charming little British m- ow, _ow_! _Fuck_, okay, stop! Christ. Later, asshole!"

Who knew magazines of naked women were such effective weapons?

Arthur smirked to himself and gathered up the decent collection of porn before taking it back to the bed with him to flick through the tattered pages. Might as well amuse himself for a bit until Mrs. Jones returned home, after all.

* * *

It was some few hours later that Alfred returned home, his once clean uniform dirtied and his tan skin caked in dirt along his arms and cheekbones. He'd ditched his bat and cleats outside in the garage, blue eyes flickering with exhaustion as they darkened with the ebbing sun-streaked sky. His grin, however, was bright and shone with all the happiness he had to offer.

That is, until Arthur tripped him from where he sat on the couch.

"Fuck, Arthur!" Alfred spluttered, pushing himself up off of the floor on his hands and knees to glare at his assailant. Said boy smiled haughtily, setting his needle and thread aside and toeing at Alfred's slightly pudgy tummy.

"How clumsy of you, dear boy," Arthur teased, scooting to the edge of the couch to more properly prod at his fallen friend. He himself had been reacquainted with that same bit of carpet too many times to not know how little the fall hurt. "Your mum left to pick up your brother from his tuba lesson. Should be back shortly."

Alfred bit his tongue to keep from giggling at having his stomach poked before childishly sticking it out and razzing (Arthur promptly made a face of disgust). "And she left you to guard the house? She trusts you too much, man. I think this is her own way of compensating for having to put up with me and Mattie."

"Well, you two are a couple of hooligans. You, more so than Matthew."

" Jerk."

"Prat."

"Asswipe."

"Barmy berk."

"Wanker," Alfred said in a poorly imitated accent as he grinned and latched onto Arthur's sock-clad foot and _tugged_, earning a surprised yelp from the other as he went tumbling down onto the floor.

And so they went on as they often did, yanking and grabbing and shoving at one another in meaningless motions until one had the other in a decent enough headlock and declared victory. Most often it was Alfred who won, if only because of his unfair advantage of being "larger" (Arthur always noted this with a smirk, and it still took Alfred a moment to realize he was being insulted), but the two always slapped one another on the back and took up a decent conversation afterward.

This night ended no differently in that respect, as Alfred had Arthur over his knees with his spindly arms stretched behind his back. His upturned lips revealed his pearly whites, blue eyes gleeful. "C'mon, give up! Admit that I'm awesome and I'll let you go."

"Certainly not!" Arthur protested haughtily, squirming ineffectively. He shot Alfred a genuine glare over his shoulder. "You cheated this round, and you know it."

Alfred scoffed, wrangling Arthur's wrists into one of his hands, the other prodding at his bony ribs. "Says the guy who tripped me earlier."

"Tosser."

"Nope, that's you, sweethea-"

"Gayyyy," Matthew cut in nonchalantly, having stepped in moments before. He lugged his tuba case at his side and slid out of his sneakers, rolling his eyes at his brother and classmate. "You hosers might want to consider getting up before mom walks in on your private moment."

Alfred paled while Arthur flushed, at last wriggling himself free when the former boy's grip absently slackened. He hopped to his feet and resumed his place on the couch, returning to his embroidery. "Honestly, Matthew. I do wish your brother here had some of your manners."

("Hey!" Alfred relented unhappily from the floor. He so had manners!)

Matt chuckled pleasantly, adjusting his specs. "But then you two wouldn't get into such great lovers' spats all the time. And then what would you do with yourselves, eh? Alfred would actually have to start relying on his _girlfriend _for physical contact." Ah, his accent always shone through when he was being cheeky.

Of course Arthur had been well prepared to return that quip with one of his own, but Mrs. Jones at that moment decided to toddle in, all smiles and sweetness that the woman was. She chastised Alfred for getting dirt on the carpet before pinching his cheek and taking up a seat next to Arthur, where her own embroidery pattern awaited her. The brothers (half-brothers, to be precise), meanwhile, began a silent war of making displeased faces at one another as they took to playing video games on the floor.

Such was life; simple, but soon about to take young Arthur Kirkland on a journey he would curse as a blessing for the rest of his days.

* * *

A/N: I'm a wee bit frightened to try this. Um. Anyway. There you go, nice crappy little prologue of sorts.


	2. Author's Note

**A/N:**

Normally I dislike doing this sort of thing if it isn't a necessity, but I will indeed be keeping this note here in lieu of an actual chapter for a short while. I just wanted to inform you kind souls, who've reviewed and added this fic to your alerts and what-not, that** I will be continuing this story**. For personal reasons I've put it on hold, but had always intended to return to it. It's been over half of a year already, but within the next month or so I should have the next chapter up. Thank you to those who have taken time out for this; I'll do my best to provide you with literary entertainment in the days to come.

Take care, and be well! xx

_(This note will magically disappear once the new chapter is up.)_


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